


A Modest Hand

by supershinywords



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supershinywords/pseuds/supershinywords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following an off-screen confrontation about their mutual attraction, d'Artagnan and Athos consummate their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Modest Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Edited fill for [the Athos/d'Artagnan, gentle lovemaking](http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/774.html?thread=491782#cmt491782) prompt on the BBC Musketeers kink-meme. So it's basically sex. I'm a bit sorry.

Athos was stretched out on his bed with a book when d'Artagnan entered his quarters. Night had fallen long since and he had several candles lit, three around him and two on his desk, lighting the room warmly. He was looking at the door when d'Artagnan entered; the nerves fluttering in d'Artagnan's stomach eased at the fond smile crinkling the corner's of Athos' eyes. His own smile was drawn helplessly in response, wider by far, and he turned to close the door to collect himself and hide his hot cheeks.

Athos rose silently on stocking clad feet over his floor, crossing the short distance between them with little warning but the weight of his presence. It was enough that d'Artagnan barely jumped when heat eased up along his back and he was tugged back into Athos' chest by a loose arm. 

d'Artagnan allowed himself to be turned and caught Athos still smiling, wider now, teeth just visible past his neatly trimmed beard and firm lips, and had to lean down, amazed at his own boldness. “Forgive me if I offend,” he murmured before their lips touched, glancing up from those lips to meet Athos' gaze, and then they were kissing. It was their third, now, and started chaste as the first had. (The first and second had been earlier that day, the first a surprise when the tension between them had overwhelmed d'Artagnan and he had leaned down into Athos quickly, unable to look away from sharp blue eyes. The second kiss had occurred as Athos' reluctance to accept that d'Artagnan's interest was genuine had pushed d'Artagnan past his own nerves to pull the man into a searing kiss that had degenerated into himself caught pleasantly near the wall of the equipment room with the bulk of Athos' weight settled between his thighs and marks on his jaw he would have to explain during training tomorrow and led him to make this appointment now.)

He could still feel the passion he'd incited earlier banked in Athos and it excited him, but he wasn't sure he could match the other man. Clearly, Athos had more practice with this than he did. Would he take to it like training? Hard, fast, deceptively aggressive? The idea was a bit nerve wracking. Their third kiss was somewhere between the chaste kiss d'Artagnan had first smeared over Athos' mouth in the dim equipment room and the second kiss he'd forgotten himself and stolen, before Athos had turned the tables on him (as was so often the case). When it broke, d'Artagnan sighed as Athos withdrew but allowed the hand on his chest to keep him from chasing those faintly curling lips. 

“You're eager,” Athos murmured. 

d'Artagnan lifted a hand cautiously, wanting to touch and not wanting to ruin the moment. He stroked the line of Athos' beard and found the texture as pleasant to his fingers, even callused as they were, as it had been along his neck. After a moment, he pressed his whole hand along Athos' jaw and shrugged. “I like it when you smile.”

Athos lifted his hand from d'Artagnan's check to his wrist, holding his hand still as he turned his head and, dark eyes never leaving d'Artagnan's own wide brown gaze, pressed a kiss to his palm. 

A faint shudder ran down d'Artagnan's spine and his eyes blinked closed involuntarily. Athos was smirking faintly at him now, and finally leaned back and escorted d'Artagnan to his bed. 

“This isn't what I was expecting,” d'Artagnan murmured, allowing the hand at his back to usher him to the bed. 

“Oh?” Athos asked, stepping back to pour them both half a glass of wine, which d'Artagnan took gratefully.

d'Artagnan took a sip, wetting his throat and letting familiar taste of Athos' awful wine soothe his nerves. “After your argument earlier, I worried I might have to convince you all over again...”

“Ah.” Athos settled beside d'Artagnan and considered that a moment, cup to lips as he thought. “Well, I rarely need instruction in the same lesson twice.”

d'Artagnan cocked a brow. “Is that a reference to how I got kicked into the same post three times during training today?”

Athos grinned. “What an awful thing to say.”

d'Artagnan hid his answering grin in his cup, knowing full well it was written over his face anyway. “You're not a very nice man.” And with that, the wine was gone. 

“I know,” Athos sighed theatrically, briefly reminding d'Artagnan of no one so much as Aramis in the gesture before he tossed his own cup back and clapped d'Artagnan's shoulder. “Keeps me up at night.”

He collected the cups and set them on the nearby table, then returned to the bed, but didn't sit; rather, he stepped up to d'Artagnan and allowed him to dictate the space between them. d'Artagnan allowed him into his space, thighs spreading around him, and looked up curiously. Neither of his predictions had come true – that Athos would require d'Artagnan to shout at him again before he admitted that they could have something, or that Athos would pounce on him the minute he came through the door and pick up where they'd left off – but he was no longer quite as nervous as he'd been approaching Athos' room, not when Athos was allowing himself to display such hot affection in the gentle covetousness of his gaze, and so with that spark of confidence, he observed Athos as he was being observed.

He'd taken the time to trim his beard, as d'Artagnan had already noted. His hair was faintly damp – probably only rinsed after training though, unlike d'Artagnan who'd had more mud than sweat in his own hair from his frequent trips to the ground as Porthos and Athos drilled him in a new move while Aramis called out the least helpful tips from the side while he sharpened his blades. His shirt was of good, serviceable quality without being ostentatious, and it had a patch along the left seam where arm and shoulder met. It seemed fresh, and d'Artagnan was glad he'd decided on fresh clothes after his quick scrub down as well, though he didn't think his own lanky form could possibly fill out his shirt so well. 

Athos lifted a hand and mirrored d'Artagnan's earlier gesture, cupping d'Artagnan's face for a moment before stroking his thumb along the edge of d'Artagnan's mouth. d'Artagnan licked his lips instinctively and the expression on Athos' face sharpened before he withdrew his hand. 

d'Artagnan reached for it, bringing it back to his mouth where he deliberately – not without some nerves, but with growing confidence – sucked the pads of his first two fingers into his mouth. His skin tasted faintly of soap and sword polish and dust, probably from the book binding. After a moment, he stopped and spoke against the damp skin, eyes heavy-lidded and locked onto Athos' belt from a combination of nerves and arousal. “I won't break, you know.” 

Athos took back his hand and cupped both sides of d'Artagnan's face, tilted his head up so that they could once more join their mouths, and d'Artagnan sighed into the warm rough texture of beard and lips before they parted and d'Artagnan mimicked the motion instinctively, following Athos' silent instruction and moaning faintly as Athos licked into his mouth. He brushed his tongue along d'Artagnan's, along the roof of his mouth, and then withdrew while d'Artagnan was trying to figure out how it could both feel good and tickle, and how those feelings together could light such a flame in him. His thoughts were derailed when Athos shifted minutely, taking his lower lip gently between his teeth and sucked, and he found himself gripping at Athos' sides, pulling him forward. 

After a moment, Athos pressed him back and broke their kiss, leaving d'Artagnan hot-faced and quick of breath. Athos' eyes moved with zealotry over him, hot and amused, yes, but with a terrible fondness that made d'Artagnan moan and press forward against his gentle pressure to bury his face into the soft linen of his shirt. Hands carded through his hair as he shook through an intense spasm of lust and his own affection, briefly insensate from the shocking strength of his emotions. 

As he came back to himself, there were fingers squeezing the back of his neck and he could hear words spilling out staccato, in a voice that sounded like his own. “...thos, please, please, _tell me,_ anything,” and Athos' beautiful voice, rough and deep, “Hush, hush, d'Artagnan, let it pass, let it go...listen to me now, d'Artagnan.”

d'Artagnan took a deep breath, the shattered surprise of the moment before having crested and begun to fade. Athos' scent combined with the soap he'd washed with and the cedar of his chest of drawers from the shirt. He leaned back into Athos' touch, eyes closed. Athos stroked his hair from his hot face and waited for d'Artagnan to open his eyes. When he did, Athos was smiling. “There's no rush, is there?”

d'Artagnan shook his head slowly, all of his nerves purged with the quicksilver rush and retreat of his need. “I don't understand...”

Athos leaned forward, one arm moving to d'Artagnan's side to brace him as he encouraged d'Artagnan to lean back and scoot up on the bed. When he had, Athos pushed back to the edge and slid to his knees at the edge. d'Artagnan couldn't help but prop himself up to better see, eyes intent as Athos looked him over for a long moment before one hand squeezed his ankle and then began working on his bootlaces. 

d'Artagnan shifted, tensing to curl forward. “I can help...”

Athos shook his head but paused. “Let me?”

d'Artagnan couldn't refuse such a naked confession and leaned back once more on his elbows, unable to look away from Athos' bowed head as he boots were unlaced and removed. He thought that might be the end of it, but then Athos took one naked ankle in his hands and dug strong, callused fingers into the arch of his foot and d'Artagnan was shocked by the pleasure. Athos kneaded along the arch and then up to the ball before pressing between his toes and curling his warm palm around them.

d'Artagnan hadn't collapsed onto the bed, but his head had fallen back in pleasure, surprise, and he could hardly watch as his other ankle was taken in hand and that foot given the same tender treatment. Athos' expression was a study of devotion as he worked until he finally looked up and d'Artagnan could hardly meet his eyes for the liquid pleasure he'd given him. His tongue was thick in his mouth or he would've called to him. Instead he lifted a hand, bracing on his back arm and held it out to Athos. 

Athos moved into it, turning his head as he passed to press a kiss into d'Artagnan's palm before d'Artagnan tugged him up to blanket him on the bed, laying back to let the mattress bear their weight. No longer propping him up, he slid his arm around Athos' back and they kissed again, the sensation loosening d'Artagnan's tongue enough to respond in kind. Several moments later, well kissed and solid under Athos' body, d'Artagnan turned his head, relishing the pleasant rasp of Athos' beard over his own faint stubble. 

Athos laughed softly, a genuine happiness in it that made the moment even sweeter than d'Artagnan could have imagined, and he drew another moan from d'Artagnan when he nuzzled his throat gently, then laved his tongue over the faintly tender skin.

d'Artagnan's fingers clenched in his hair, in his shirt, and remembered that Athos was still _wearing_ a shirt. He slid his hand reluctantly from Athos' thick hair and to his back, tugging up impatiently. Athos lingered at his neck for a moment before he pushed up long enough for d'Artagnan to pull his shirt up over his head, and then he leaned one side to the other, shaking free of it as he braced over d'Artagnan with an arm to either side of his head. 

d'Artagnan took immediate advantage, running his hands over his well defined arms, free of obstruction and barrier. He had scars d'Artagnan found his fingers lingering over, small ones mainly, though there was a jagged slash on his inner bicep which had the feel of battlefield stitches he wanted to ask about later. His shoulders seemed broader in the flesh, his chest cut solid with muscle and coated with chest hair. d'Artagnan stroked over his sides, tracing the line of muscle from underarm to ribs and back up the middle, curling his fingers into the short curling hairs there. 

He was so hypnotized by the look and feel of his hands on Athos' chest, being allowed to touch him, finally, that he failed to notice the shift in his expression and it wasn't until those muscles rippled under his hands as Athos shifted onto one arm that he looked up, then gasped and closed his eyes as Athos cupped him through his pants. 

“Perhaps we should both disrobe?” Athos murmured. “What do you think?”

“Sensible plan,” d'Artagnan whispered pressing up into the touch. “Only I won't be able to move if you keep doing that.”

“And I had such plans...” Athos chuckled, the sound rolling through d'Artagnan like wine and squeezed once more before withdrawing his hand to kneel above d'Artagnan. 

d'Artagnan took a breath and was able to open his eyes. Athos watched him, clearly pleased with himself over his ruffled state and d'Artagnan smiled almost helplessly in response. Athos could do with more days where he looked as happy as he did now.

His hands had fallen to Athos' hips when he'd shifted back and he squeezed gently, feeling firm muscle tense under his touch before he pulled his own shirt over his head. When he emerged, tossing it over the side of the bed to join Athos' shirt, Athos had unlaced his breeches and was watching him. When their eyes met, Athos grinned and rolled off of d'Artagnan, slapping his hip lightly as he stood, finishing the laces along his calves.

d'Artagnan swallowed, momentarily distracted from his own disrobing until blue eyes flicked his way, sending a shiver through him that motivated movement. He managed not to fumble badly or tangle the laces of his leathers and wriggled out of them, pushing them past his thighs and then kicking them off. When he leaned back, his hands stilled at the hem of his shirt, pinned in place by Athos' heated stare. He swallowed, unable to keep his eyes up when there was so much more to really observe. He'd seen most of Athos before, bathing on missions typically coming all together or in shifts, but he'd never allowed himself to look his fill.

More scars traced his ribs and a couple along his left hip that looked like claws. d'Artagnan found himself reaching for them and his hand caught. He looked back up at Athos to see him smiling. He plucked at d'Artagnan's sleeve and smiled. “I believe we had an agreement, d'Artagnan...”

d'Artagnan managed not to rip his shirt, but it was luck more than design, and it was sent past Athos' side as he reached out to him. Athos came to him easily, sliding one knee onto his bed and allowing d'Artagnan to take them down to the mattress. When they finished shifting with a certain amount of gratuitous rubbing of flesh on flesh, d'Artagnan was on his back with his arms around Athos who was propped up, half laying on him, one leg folded into his and one of his beautiful hands spread wide over d'Artagnan's chest. 

d'Artagnan's chest was rising quickly again, his urgency returning like the inescapable tide. Athos watched him for a moment, fingers moving through the hair on d'Artagnan's chest. After a moment, they stilled. “Have you lain with a man before?”

d'Artagnan licked his dry lips and took a breath to focus, though he wanted nothing more than to roll Athos over and rut against him until they both reached a pleasant end. “Nothing serious. Not even this far.”

Athos hummed thoughtfully and then his eyes narrowed an instant before he flicked the edge of a nail over d'Artagnan's nipple curiously. d'Artagnan jolted against him, surprise and pleasure warring in him as he'd never been particularly sensitive before that he'd noticed. 

“Ahh, you tempt me...” Athos sighed, leaning into d'Artagnan and stroking down his side as though shaping him with his touch.

d'Artagnan frowned faintly at that, hands. “I thought...” Athos cocked his head when d'Artagnan trailed off and he forced himself to continue. “I may not have lain with a man before, but I'm not unaware of what may pass between them. Do you not want...?”

“Do you?” Athos asked curiously.

“Well, yes!” d'Artagnan said, leaning up to kiss him. Athos allowed it and for a moment, their mouths moved slickly over each other and there was no other sound until d'Artagnan pulled back, panting faintly. “With you. I admit I was a bit worried that I wouldn't be...but I do want you, Athos. Truly.”

Athos rubbed his chest, more soothing than teasing now, and then dragged his hand up to d'Artagnan's throat, rubbing along the prominent ridge. “You are more than enough. Do not mistake me: I want to learn everything that drives you wild. And I mean to. But I have found finesse better than brute force in this endeavor.”

d'Artagnan smiled. “I am, as ever, your devoted pupil.”


End file.
